


your touches are virtue

by glueskin



Series: chrobin is love. chrobin is life. [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grima Lives (Sort Of), Identity Issues, M/M, Mutual Pining, this fic is just "robin is a pining mess and has conversations with several people"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 12:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueskin/pseuds/glueskin
Summary: The Hierophant, with Robin’s face and Robin’s voice, six-eyed and sneering, haunts him too. He dreams of the Hierophant—of Grima—parting his lips, trying to speak, his voice lost to the furious wind and the shouts of their allies as Chrom brought his Falchion down upon him.The voices get louder on those morning. Robin convinces himself it is only the effects of exhaustion and paranoia, nothing else. It can’t be anything else.grima isn't as gone as everyone thinks. robin meets with friends, has a talk with a god, and stays strong with The Power Of Love.





	your touches are virtue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exocara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exocara/gifts).



> i started writing this for valen SO long ago...im sorry it took 10 years fahksjdfhkasdf its also the first fire emblem thing ive written in a LONG time so forgive me if its a bit sloppy.
> 
> i swear to god ill write a follow up piece where chrom and robin actually kiss 
> 
> also, towards the end of the church scene robin throws up. i tried not to describe the action in too much detail, but...yeah

Robin was convinced it was his imagination at first. The vague whispers he would hear, the restlessness that seemed to stir inside him—surely it was his imagination.  
  
But the odd whispering grows louder as the months drag on, becoming more legible until most mornings he wakes damp with sweat from anxious dreams of that battle atop the Fell Dragon’s leathered spine.  
  
The Hierophant, with Robin’s face and Robin’s voice, six-eyed and sneering, haunts him too. He dreams of the Hierophant—of Grima—parting his lips, trying to speak, his voice lost to the furious wind and the shouts of their allies as Chrom brought his Falchion down upon him.  
  
The voices get louder on those morning. Robin convinces himself it is only the effects of exhaustion and paranoia, nothing else. It can’t be anything else.  
  
But the months drag on and half a year passes too soon; after a particularly tiring day spent helping Chrom draft a trading agreement, as he undresses for bed lethargically to thoughts of Chrom’s warm hand against his and the curve of his smile in the evening light—  
  
_I would prefer death over being subjected to your disgustingly romantic desire._  
  
Robin does the only thing he can do: he drops his bundle of clothes and screams.

* * *

The next few days find Robin growing increasingly haggard. It shows in the growing sloppiness of his work and appearance both, to the point where Chrom insists he take time off despite Robin’s protests.  
  
But Chrom’s concern sends warmth flooding through him and, once again, the thing he tries so hard to ignore voices its disgust, an echo of Robin’s own voice scraping uncomfortably in his ears.  
  
“I’m just tired,” Robin mutters to himself unconvincingly, lifting his hood up as he hurries along the dirt path leading into town. Chrom forcing him to take a break at least gives him time to consult Henry—Tharja had been his first choice, but he had been surprised to find out from Maribelle that she and Mirielle had left on an expedition in Chon’sin two weeks ago.  
  
Luckily for Robin, Henry only goes where Ricken goes, and Ricken hasn’t left the Haildom at all in the months since their return after that battle above Origin Peak.  
  
Thanks to that, Henry is easy to find—in the small manor that remains of Ricken’s family properties, only an hours trek from the castle, he answers Robin’s knocking with exuberance. Henry wrenches the door open so enthusiastically that it smacks into the wall and the way he throws his arms around Robin, it’s as if they haven’t seen each other in years rather than the month it has been.  
  
“Henry, you’re going to suffocate him! Sorry, Robin—!” Ricken cries out, obscured from view; with Robin’s face pressed into Henry’s shoulder, he can’t see anything other than the dark knit fabric of the mage’s sweater.  
  
“It’s okay,” Robin says, voice muffled as he pats Henry’s back. “I missed you guys, too.”  
  
Henry finally releases his hold on him. Robin can’t help the lungful of air he gasps for, despite his previous words.  
  
“Wow, Robin, I didn’t realize you looked so bad,” Henry says. Ricken blanches as he approaches, both at the straight forwardness of Henry’s words and the fact he’s not wrong.  
  
Robin is in a state. Hair a mess, bruises sunken beneath his eyes, his skin taking on an unhealthy pallor from both his lack of sleep and how scarcely he’s left the castle in recent months. If it weren’t for Frederick, he’d be forgetting to eat as well.  
  
“I haven’t been well lately,” he admits, rubbing his neck with embarrassment. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about it, actually.”  
  
“If it’s a medical problem, shouldn’t you talk to Lissa or Mari?” Ricken asks as he ushers Robin further inside so he can close the door.  
  
“If it were normal, but it’s a Grima problem, isn't it?” Henry says, and Ricken makes a strangled noise in his throat and slams the door shut so harshly the paintings on the nearby walls rattle with the force of it.  
  
“What?!”  
  
Robin cringes at the volume of Ricken’s voice, but Henry just laughs.  
  
“He’s right,” Robin tells Ricken, feeling guilty about the way he pales, his freckles standing out starkly against his skin.  
  
“O-Okay...um, come to the parlour, there’s tea and something to eat. We can talk there,” Ricken says, voice shaking only slightly as he straightens his posture and strides down the hall, anticipating that they follow.  
  
They share a glance and a smile, but they do follow after him. Ricken seats them in a modestly decorated parlor; the furniture is antiquated and there are several old paintings hung on the wall, of older men and women who look somewhat like Ricken—the same hair, the same dimpled smile—but it’s far less ostentatious than others Robin has been to.  
  
All the court noble homes Robin has been to on behalf Chrom all seem to have one thing in common: a desperate desire to show off their wealth. It’s a bit exhausting.  
  
Robin almost wants to ask if his home has always been so modest or if things were sold off when Ricken’s family went into debt, but is aware enough to know that would be incredibly rude, so instead he takes his seat and enjoys the impressive spread of sandwiches and tea before him.  
  
“Alright,” Henry says as soon as they’re all sitting, already grabbing for some tea. It sloshes dangerously close to the edge with how abruptly he pulls it toward him and Ricken makes a panicked noise; nothing spills. “Tell us how it started!”  
  
Robin does. He explains how he had felt fine, at first, or as fine as anyone could after what they all experienced above Origin Peak—but the increasing feeling of restlessness that had plagued him in the coming months, and the strange whispers, until finally Grima’s voice had echoed within his own mind.  
  
He admits to the dreams, too. Ricken’s concerned expression grows the more he speaks, and he reaches across the small table to touch Robin’s hand with his own.  
  
“Do you have any ideas?” Robin asks after he explains, and Henry hums and shoves an entire delicately cut sandwich down his throat. Ricken cringes.  
  
“Not a clue,” Henry says after he swallows and downs the rest of his tea. “I’ve heard some things about possession and dragons sharing bodies, but you and Grima are kinda, uh, freaky. Most people don’t have the literal heart of a dragon inside them. Or get sacrificed as their vessel.”  
  
Robin feels both tired and amused at Henry’s words. The exhaustion is his own, his sure, but—nothing about this is _funny_ .  
  
Maybe Grima thinks it is, though, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that things emotions bleeding into his own.  
  
“So what should I do? I have no idea what’s going on with me—what if Grima overtakes me?” Robin asks, frustrated, and Ricken pats his hand and tells him to drink his tea. He does, realizing he’s allowed it to cool to a point where the taste isn’t quite right.  
  
It’s still good, though.  
  
“Nowi and Nah can commune with Naga if they try,” Ricken suggests once Robin has lowered his cup, somewhat soothed. “She answers, sometimes. Maybe you could try that?”  
  
“But they’re manakete,” Robin refutes. “Naga can speak to them because they’re dragonkin, right?”  
  
“Maybe you should try prayer,” Henry offers. Both Ricken and Robin turn to him with a measure of incredulity.  
  
“What? Naga hears the prayers of her devout, right? You can go to Libra,” he says.  
  
“He’s right,” Ricken says, a note of excited urgency entering his voice as he turns back to Robin. “Libra’s church is in town, not that far—it’s not busy on weekdays, so we can probably see him today.”  
  
“We?” Robin echoes, bewildered and unsure if he even wants to drag Libra into this. Ricken nods enthusiastically.  
  
“Yes! How could I miss it? If you actually get to commune with Naga, it would be quite something. And I want to make sure things turn out okay.”  
  
“I haven’t seen Libra yet this week, so of course I’ll go,” Henry adds, taking Ricken’s teacup and drinking the last of it. It’s a testament to Ricken’s excitement that he hadn’t slapped Henry’s hand away.  
  
“I wouldn’t want to bother him,” Robin tries to protest, but Henry is ready with a rebuttal.  
  
“If you don’t go to Libra, the only choice is to get Nowi or Nah to ask Naga about this for you, right?”  
  
Robin grimaces at the thought. He would hate to get either of them involved, especially Nah, but the only other person he could ask is Tiki, who isn’t in the Haildom. While Chrom would likely be glad to give him an extended vacation, he would also be concerned about him making such a lengthy trip and want to accompany him.  
  
“Alright,” Robin sighs. “Libra it is, then.”

* * *

They finish another cup of tea and Ricken makes Robin actually eat before they leave, which Robin is grateful for; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until Ricken had all but forced a turkey sandwich down his throat.

  
The trek into town is a short one. Ricken’s home is just on the outskirts, so it’s about fifteen minutes; Henry fills their walk with talk about his favorite places in town, which ranges from the local cemetery to a patissiere run by an old widow who keeps giving Henry free extras in all his orders.  
  
It’s nice to hear Henry is getting along well with the locals. Robin and Chrom were both a touch worried when Henry had decided to stay with Ricken, but everything seems fine.  
  
Libra’s church is nestled at the eastern edge of town near the woods. There are children running about the property, drawing in the dirt and climbing a disgruntled looking—  
  
“Lon’qu!?” Robin cries out in surprise, and the swordsman looks as stunned as Robin feels to see him. A tiny redhead hanging off of Lon’qu’s shoulder starts slipping, but the child with dirty blonde pigtails hanging off his other arm grabs him by the shirt to stop him.  
  
“Robin,” Lon’qu greets, quiet as ever once Robin is close enough.  
  
“Heya, Lon’qu! Good to see ya again!” Henry greets, cheerful and not at all surprised; Robin throws him and Ricken a questioning look, but Henry ignores it and Ricken just shrugs.  
  
“I thought you were still in Regna Ferox,” Robin says, trying not to make his tone accusing. Lon’qu averts his gaze even as the redhead drops off his arm with a howl of “HENRY” to run at him. Henry laughs, catching the child in his arms and swinging him around, making him squeal in delight.  
  
“Me too! Me too!” The blonde cries out, making Lon’qu wince from how she had shrieked in his ear. She drops off him to run towards Henry as well, and she gets spun just as vigorously as the redhead.  
  
“Whoa, is that Bubbles?!” An all too familiar voice exclaims, and Robin turns to see Gaius, who he’s far less surprised to see; Gaius and Libra living together is something everybody knows of but nobody talks about. There had been some gossip once they first settled down after everything, but Maribelle herself had put her foot down to stop it despite the fact she’s usually the one most invested in other people’s lives.  
  
“Hi, Gaius,” Robin greets warmly, patting Gaius’ arm when he tosses it around him in a friendly gesture.  
  
“Good to see you out and about instead of in that stuffy ol’ castle, Bubbles,” Gaius says jovially, ruffling Robin’s hair with his free hand. “You look like you need the sun, that’s for sure,” he adds, dropping his hand from Robin’s hair to pinch his cheek.  
  
Robin laughs, smacking his hand away.  
  
“Come off it, I’ve been real busy. I admit, though, I’m not here for a social call. I kind of need a favor from Libra,” he says, feeling a bit guilty for not just coming to visit.  
  
“I’ll go,” Lon’qu says, vanishing into the church before Robin can say anything. Gaius looks after him, smiling; his eyes are soft when Robin glances up at him, and he has the sinking feeling Lon’qu hadn’t made his presence in the area known to the other Shepherd’s out of _embarrassment_ .  
  
“Does he visit often?” Robin asks conversationally, and Gaius laughs, dropping his cheek into Robin’s hair. Out of his periphery he sees Ricken and Henry surrounded by children who had abandoned their games in favor of seeing magic tricks.  
  
“Yep. Every other month he drops by for a week or two, but he’s so shy he hasn’t let anyone else know.”  
  
“Shy, huh? I guess he is. I hope he knows none of us will bother you guys, though.”  
  
Gaius hums, tightening his grip around Robin’s shoulder’s just slightly. It feels like unspoken gratitude.  
  
“He does. He just takes things slow.”  
  
That’s a relief. If Lon’qu was worried about anyone in the Shepherds bothering the three of them about whatever they’re doing, Robin would be pretty upset—not at him, but at whoever might have made him think so.  
  
Libra exits the church, as ethereally beautiful as ever; he walks with grace, his loose white cleric robes hanging off his frame finely, and his hair is braided with flowers. Lon’qu follows and so does a young girl looking immensely satisfied, a bundle of more of the same flowers in her arm. When she sees Henry and Ricken conjuring up butterflies and birds for the other children, she rushes over, eyes brightening.  
  
“It is good to see you again, Robin,” Libra says warmly as he approaches, reaching out to clasp Robin’s hand in his. “It has been far too long. Gaius, did you get what I sent you for?”  
  
“Sure did,” Gaius says, dropping his arm off of Robin’s shoulders and patting the satchel at his side. “Got enough for all the little ones. Granny Lyle wants you to know she’s still bringing that roast this weekend and Miss Lily said she’s got the art supplies handled for craft day.”  
  
“Wonderful. Thank you, Gaius,” Libra smiles at the redhead as he releases Robin’s hand, and Robin feels very much as though he’s intruding despite the fact it’s a normal conversation. The way they look at each other is so—  
  
_Gross_ , something within him murmurs, and he grimaces. _Shut up_ , he thinks strongly, hoping Grima can hear him as well as he can hear him. It? Whatever.  
  
Libra and Gaius aren’t gross. It’s _sweet_.  
  
“So, Robin. You have need of my services?” Libra asks, straight to the point.  
  
“Ah, right. Can we talk inside?” He asks, and Libra’s eyes narrow. He looks at Gaius, who shrugs.  
  
“I’ll keep the kiddies occupied,” he promises, then looks at Ricken and Henry and laughs. “Or not. Those two are doing as good a job as ever.”  
  
“Just keep anyone else from coming in,” Libra says, and Robin wants to say that’s unnecessary but, well.  
  
Libra turns to head back into the church, but before he follows, Robin gives Lon’qu a smile.  
  
“It’s good to see you again, Lon’qu,” he says sincerely. “I hope I can see you again before you go back to Regna Ferox.”  
  
If Lon’qu were anyone else, he might have flushed, but he just nods, his own mouth awkwardly stilting in an attempt to return his smile.  
  
Robin smiles wider still at the attempt, following Libra into the church. The older man closes the heavy doors behind them; they had been left open before, allowing the warm summer air to circulate through the building and letting the children come and go.  
  
Libra steers him towards the pews near the front, sitting him down before the altar and then sitting at his side. Robin wonders if he really looks _that_ awful, with how delicately Libra’s been touching him, like he might crumble and pass out if he’s not treated like glass.  
  
“I am always happy to be of service, but I have to say, this is the first time you have sought my particular skill set out,” Libra says as he sits, smoothing out the folds of his robes. Robin flushes even though it isn’t a critique—Libra has never judged the less devout of the Shepherds, or even those who are aren’t much for belief at all, and he’s never been anything but kind to Henry and Tharja.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Robin says before he can stop himself, and Libra frowns at him. “I mean—I didn’t think I’d end up having to come here,” Robin tries to explain, holding his hands out to gesture towards the altar. Behind it, Naga’s draconic form is captured in stained glass, the light of the sun filtering through in shades of pale blue and green and gold. The sight of it makes something inside him ache unpleasantly, and he averts his gaze as a feeling akin to anger begins to burn inside his chest.  
  
“And yet you are here,” Libra says. “So what can I do to be of service?”  
  
Robin tells him. Libra’s gaze is unwavering, lacking in judgement as he explains his issue to him as he had to Ricken and Henry, and how they came to the conclusion prayer might help him find an answer.  
  
No. There is no judgement, but there is concern, and something like understanding.  
  
“Perhaps,” Libra says once Robin finishes his story. “Naga cannot commune with us the way she does dragonkin, but she hears our prayers—this much is certain. I do not doubt she will hear you and find some way to give you the answers you seek. Shall we?”  
  
“I don’t,” Robin starts, faltering as Libra stands. He looks even more beautiful in the light of the church, the blues and greens dancing off his pale skin. Robin swallows his guilt at what he must admit.  
  
“I don’t know how. I’ve never—I mean, if I have, I don’t remember,” he says. He isn’t ashamed of it, but sitting before Libra, he feels embarrassed.  
  
Libra’s smile is a gentle thing.  
  
“Not to worry. I did not expect you to—come, kneel before the altar with me, and I shall walk you through what you must say.”  
  
Robin nods, standing to follow. Kneeling before the altar is somewhat uncomfortable for a variety of reasons—he isn’t devout, after all, and the floor makes his knees ache, and there’s something else that he isn’t sure is from him. But he does it, and sure enough Libra tells him what to say.  
  
Robin repeats his words in a quiet murmur, hands clasped, eyes closed. He eases his breathing the best he can, trying to go for a meditative-like state, the way he often saw Libra do in their travels—at some point Libra stops speaking, and Robin stops repeating his words, and all is quiet save the sound of their breathing.  
  
The sun coming through the window feels warm on his face. Something else, deep inside him, feels cold as he reaches out with his thoughts—as he asks, desperately, for answers.  
  
His knees move past aching. He loses the feeling but doesn’t move. He thinks someone else enters the church, but he can’t be sure.  
  
_There is nothing to be done_ , someone says, distant and familiar. The voice is one he’s heard before—light and airy, almost feminine but not quite, ringing in his ears.  
  
Robin might not be breathing. He isn’t sure. He hadn’t expected to hear Naga, not really. Because humans can’t hear her the way dragonkin can—and yet—  
  
_I am sorry, child. The Fell Dragon’s body has died, but what remains of their spirit exists within you and your shared heart,_ that voice keeps speaking. A wounded noise drags itself out of Robin’s throat, his eyes hot, and he doesn’t know why. There’s anger clawing at his chest, his lungs, and he’s never felt so much of it before.  
  
_But the Fell Dragon cannot do more than this. They cannot possess you as they had the you of the future past. Not unless you permit it._  
  
Robin’s ears ring from more than just a voice he shouldn’t be capable of hearing. His heart beats, loud in his head, and it isn’t his heart.  
  
_Please, take care of my child._  
  
Someone grabs his shoulder. Shaking him, and Robin opens his eyes; the light from outside has dimmed, but it’s still enough to hurt even if he can barely see through the wetness that spills past his lashes. He’s crying.  
  
Libra’s face comes into view. Blurry from tears but still angelic in his beauty, even as his brow furrows with concern.  
  
“Robin,” he says, and Robin gets the feeling he’s been calling his name for some time. “What happened?”  
  
Robin doesn’t know how to explain it. The ringing in his ears hasn’t stopped—his heart, Grima’s heart, thuds noisily in his chest, and the rage hasn’t let up. It isn’t at the forefront anymore now that Robin has come back to himself, but it still simmers deep within him, and he doesn’t understand why.  
  
Why should he take care of Tiki? She can look after herself, and she has Say’ri—  
  
Robin’s vision swims again as he feels hot bile crawl up to his mouth, indignant fury and nausea roiling in his gut. He turns from Libra, shoving the man away so he doesn’t gag all over him—instead he retches over the floor, emptying his stomach of its contents, left with nothing but a sour taste in his mouth and the lingering, dizzying anger Naga’s words had induced in him.  
  
As well as a realization.

* * *

  
Libra helps him clean up. Actually, he forces Robin to lay down in one of the back rooms while he cleans up; the darkness and warm blankets provided help, and he finds himself calmer once Libra returns to question him again.  
  
Robin only tells him about hearing Naga, about how there’s nothing to be done but that Grima can’t do anything unless Robin wills it. He says nothing of Naga entrusting the care of ‘her child’ to him. Henry and Ricken meet him outside the church, after and the children have long since dispersed; it’s evening now and he had heard from Libra that he had spent almost two hours in a strange trance.  
  
They want to accompany him back to the castle. Robin refuses politely, insisting he can make it back on his own; it’s only Henry dropping a hand to Ricken’s shoulder and shaking his head that convinces the younger man to give in, though he looks incredibly concerned when they see Robin off.  
  
It makes him feel guilty, but he needs the time alone to clear his head. Grima has calmed—the anger has dissipated, leaving Robin with a pervading exhaustion that he’s sure is more than just his own. The whole day has been overwhelming and he wants to sleep for ten years, but he has to see Chrom tomorrow, has to help him polish off that new trade agreement with Chon’sin.  
  
He ignores the fact Chrom had told him to take several days off. He wants to see the other man, wants to look into his gaze, into the steadfast belief he holds in Robin and take comfort in it. It’s selfish of him, but Chrom’s unwavering belief in him is the only thing that doesn’t send him into a tizzy of self doubt about the fact if he _wanted_ to let Grima take over, it could happen.  
  
But it won’t. Because Robin could never let Chrom down like that.   
  
He thinks of him as he climbs the many steps and travels the winding halls of the castle toward his room. Of Chrom’s warm eyes and the gentle weight of his hand against Robin’s shoulder, of the desperation that had twisted his face when he all but begged Robin not to slay Grima alone.  
  
He ignores the disgust that churns weakly within him at these thoughts. It’s what he thinks about as he undresses, as he washes up, as he clothes himself for bed. Chrom, so full of faith in Robin that it scares him as much as it delights him.  
  
There’s no reason to fear Grima as he falls asleep, secure in the knowledge of Chrom’s faith in him. He might be undeserving, but Robin has already decided to spend the rest of his life trying to become someone worthy of it. Even if in another future he had succumbed, in this time he won't. He can't.

* * *

The next day finds Robin waking more rested than he has been in months.  
  
His sleep had been deep—the months of exhaustion had finally caught up to his body, or perhaps yesterday had been so draining Grima couldn’t be bothered to actively disturb him. His dreams had still been strange and disjointed; he hadn’t been above Origin Peak, but somewhere else, a stone labyrinth full of sand where he had been looked down at by an unfamiliar man with a fanatical gleam to his wild eyes.  
  
As he prepares for the day, Robin thinks hard on who it could have been. The sand crumbling through the walls and pooling on the floor and the dark color of the man's skin makes him think of Plegia, so perhaps it was some kind of memory from his life before his amnesia, but—  
  
There’s no familiarity when he pictures that man, that place. Not for him. All he gets from his struggle to place them are a growing headache and a sense of annoyance that he doesn’t think is his own.  
  
So he abandons that train of thought as he leaves his room. It’s later than he usually wakes up, the sun high in the sky. He feels a measure of guilt for this despite the fact he was given the day off and dearly needed the sleep.  
  
He should go to the kitchens for food. He had barely eaten yesterday and had emptied what little he had in his stomach in Libra’s church, but as he descends the staircase leading to the ground floor, he instead leaves the building.  
  
At this hour, Chrom will be outside. He can’t stay still for hours and hours in one room the way Robin can; he expects he’ll find the man at the stalls helping Sumia and Sully with the horses and pegasi, or perhaps sparring with Sully or Stahl or even Frederick out on the grounds. Depending on his mood, he may even simply be walking through the gardens Emmeryn used to tend.  
  
He checks the stalls first. No Chrom in sight, but he finds Cordelia of all people instead—though that isn’t terribly shocking. She tends to drift this way to help Sumia or simply to see her when she has a free moment.  
  
But Sumia is nowhere in sight and Cordelia, gently stroking her pegasus’ mane, has a familiar expression of frustration—though to most people the slight downward pull of her mouth might not be telling enough.  
  
“Hey, Cordelia,” he says, walking with a bit more heaviness in his step so as not to startle her. She looks up, unsurprised to see him as she makes an attempt to smile.  
  
“Good afternoon, Robin. You’re looking much healthier today,” she comments, and he laughs sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. Had he really been worrying _everyone?_ Had it been that obvious?  
  
Well. Probably.  
  
“I’m feeling a lot healthier, too. I just needed to figure some stuff out. How are you doing?” He asks. He wants to ask if she’s seen Chrom, but given her expression…  
  
There it is. She grimaces, just barely.  
  
“It’s nothing to worry about, Robin. It’s just…”  
  
“Severa,” he guesses, and she heaves a sigh.  
  
“I don’t want to bother you about it. We had another fight—I know, it’s been a while, right? But she told Sumia and I a few things and we had a disagreement.”  
  
“Is it something I can help with?” He asks, worried. It’s been a few months since the last time Severa had actually upset Cordelia, and she’s clearly upset now.  
  
But though Cordelia smiles gratefully, she shakes her head.  
  
“It’s alright. We’ll sort it out ourselves—besides, it’s something I’m not sure she’d appreciate me telling anyone about, even you.”  
  
“Well, alright,” Robin agrees. “But just let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?”  
  
“I will,” Cordelia promises. She looks more relaxed than he had when he came in, and he feels proud for that, even if he hasn’t done much of anything.  
  
Then she says, “Let me guess, though. You came looking for Chrom?”  
  
Robin flushes, embarrassed by how predictable he apparently is—at least in this.  
  
“Ah, you always know…have you seen him?” He asks quickly, not wanting her to start offering him access to her collection of self help books.  
  
“Not this morning, no,” she says, sounding sorry for it. Her gaze is knowing. Of course Cordelia of all people sees right through him about Chrom, but that really isn’t what he’s planning on talking to him about today.  
  
Or ever.  
  
“I suppose I’ll try the gardens next,” Robin says, more to himself than to her, giving her a pleading look. Cordelia smiles in a way that’s both amused and understanding.  
  
“I hope you find him shortly. It’s about time for Frederick to wrangle him into lunch and paperwork,” she comments, and Robin glances up at the sun’s height in the sky with a grimace.  
  
“So it is. I’ll get going, then. Good luck with Severa,” he adds genuinely, and Cordelia’s smile eases into something grateful.  
  
“Thank you, Robin. Take care.”  
  
With one last friendly smile, Robin leaves Cordelia to the company of her pegasus and makes toward the direction of the gardens. He passes by the training grounds on the way, where he sees a bruised up Stahl and laughing Sully being scolded by Lissa, staff in hand.  
  
As expected, he finds Chrom in the gardens. Seated on a wooden bench where Emmeryn once sat in thought, surrounded by alyssums and shaded by the heavy branches of an apple tree, he stands out.  
  
Chrom notices him before he can say anything. Turning his head, he sees Robin and smiles—genuine and breathtaking. Years of practice has made it so he doesn’t falter in movement or expression, returning Chrom’s smile without hesitance.  
  
“Robin,” Chrom says when he’s closer, moving to make room on the bench, “You’re looking much better today! I was right about you needing a break.”  
  
He sounds pleased as Robin sits next to him, smoothing out the dark purple of his cloak, and it makes his own smile soften into something more real.  
  
“I suppose even I need rest sometimes,” Robin admits. “I went to see Henry and Ricken. It was nice.” And it was, despite the circumstances.  
  
Chrom looks pleasantly surprised.  
  
“So that’s where you’d been all day. I’m glad you had fun. Are they doing well?”  
  
“They are. Seems like they’re popular in town, especially with the kids Libra looks after—Henry is a favorite. They all ran at him as soon as we showed up.”  
  
It’s not so shocking. His babyface and childish behavior belies Henry’s hidden maturity, something Robin has known for some time—and Henry adores children. His unabashed delight when Owain had appeared with Henry’s silver hair, sword in one hand and tome in the other, had been proof of that.  
  
Really, the only worry anyone had held was what that meant for Ricken and Maribelle—at least until Owain had said magic was involved and everything made much more sense.  
  
“You saw Libra as well? How are he and Gaius? I really should make time to visit,” Chrom adds, sounding only a touch frustrated. He’s been so busy in recent months he’s scarcely left the castle grounds. For someone like Chrom, such a thing is incredibly difficult.  
  
“They’re both well,” Robin says, tone sympathetic. He would usually pat Chrom’s arm as well, but today he stops himself. He considers telling Chrom about Lon’qu, but refrains, both because his reaction when he finds out will be pretty funny and because he’ll sulk even more knowing he had missed the other swordsman.  
  
Robin hesitates. He sought Chrom out for a reason, after all, but now that he’s here he finds himself at a loss.  
  
Looking out at the garden—at the expanse of white-petaled alyssums and, further away, the yellow stalks of agrimony.  
  
Years ago, shortly after Chrom had given in to the demands of the council and the public and taken a wife, he had sat with Robin in this same spot and pointed out each flower, herb and tree Emmeryn had cared for, explaining their meanings and purposes.  
  
She had loved agrimony, Chrom had said. For their bright color, the gratitude they express, the tea they can be made into.  
  
It had hurt. Because Chrom was married, even though Robin had resigned himself to that inevitability, and because of the gnawing sense of self-blame Robin carried regarding Emmeryn’s death—but more than that he had felt overwhelming gratitude in the trust Chrom placed in him for seeking Robin out to distract himself.  
  
Chrom trusts him. Robin has nothing to hide.  
  
“To be honest,” Robin starts slowly, glancing at him, “I have something I need to tell you. It’s about why I haven’t been well.”  
  
Immediately, Chrom straightens his somewhat slouched posture, expression concerned.  
  
“Are you alright? Did you talk to Lissa after all?” He asks and Robin shakes his head.  
  
“I’m fine. I mean, aside from how sleep deprived I was. I actually, uh, talked to Henry and Libra about it,” he admits. He can see the confusion on Chrom’s face; Libra might be a healer, but Henry?  
  
Wringing his hands together, Robin takes a deep breath.  
  
“I thought I was just being paranoid at first,” he says. “The thought that Grima wasn’t entirely gone plagued me. But it got worse, recently, and so I went to Henry. He didn’t know how to help, but he suggested I talk to Libra and try praying to Naga.”  
  
Robin can see the slow realization creeping into Chrom’s expression and averts his gaze.  
  
“I guess I’m more dragon than human,” Robin says, trying to keep his tone light despite how much the memory of yesterday hurts—both physically, like a ringing ache in his head, and emotionally somewhere deep inside of him. “Because Naga was able to tell me directly that I...was right. What is left of Grima—their soul, their heart—are in me. But Naga says they can’t do anything so long as I refuse to let them.”  
  
After a moment of silence, Robin forces himself to glance back at Chrom’s expression. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t the palpable relief that he sees.  
  
“I thought you were going to tell me you’re dying,” Chrom says, laughing with a somewhat desperate edge. “Gods, Robin, don’t scare me like that. I’m glad you’re okay.”  
  
“Grima is inside me,” Robin says, disbelieving. “And you focus on that?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Chrom dismisses confidently, tossing his arm over Robin’s shoulders. “Naga said it can’t do anything if you don’t let it, right? Then there’s no issue. At least, not as long as it doesn’t make you sick again,” he adds.  
  
Robin had expected this type of response. Still, his chest and face both flood with warmth, gratitude and love both welling up within him.  
  
Along with, of course, a hint of weary disgust that he ignores.  
  
“Thank you, Chrom,” he breathes. If nothing else he can let himself enjoy this—the weight of Chrom’s arm, the giddiness he feels from it.  
  
It’s enough, he tells himself as Chrom reassures him. It has to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> to note:  
> \- yes miriel and tharja invented the magic version of artificial insemination because i said so  
> \- if grima can be created from nagas blood, human nut milk, and a bunch of misc herbs and more blood then anything is possible, okay?  
> \- chroms npc wife is referred to. this will be addressed in any other fics i write but its a political marriage with 0 romance between them. miss npc wife would thank robin if he and chrom finally stopped being stupid because it would mean he stops coming into her room at 3am to interrupt her and her own s/o sleeping to stress out about whether or not robin touching his hand and smiling at him was gay or not
> 
> in case it wasnt obvious my background ship bias is henry/ricken, lon'qu/libra/gaius, sumia/cordelia, lissa/maribelle, and tiki/say'ri....
> 
> and lastly, for those unaware: grima is, in fact, nagas child. you can read about their fucked up creation over [here.](https://kantopia.wordpress.com/2018/04/07/fe-sov-valentia-accordion-secrets-of-thabes-labyrinth-translated/)


End file.
